by May Sage
Cassie just observed them, hypnotized; so when his gaze offhandedly landed on her, he caught her right in the middle of her ogling.
Perfect. The week was starting out beautifully. She’d get fired for slacking on the job and die of a heart attack, all by Wednesday.
To her absolute shock, and terror, her boss’s boss’s boss – although she might have missed a boss or two in between – smiled directly at her, and winked, before returning to his computer.
Okay, okay. She could skip the panic attack. Quite obviously, she was dreaming the whole thing, there was no way that Carter Fucking Harris was winking at her, frumpy little Cassie Franklin.
Right?
Carter wasn’t sure whether he was amused or irritated by the unforeseen inconvenience that the slender blonde who had taken cover behind her desktop represented. She was a distraction he just didn’t have the time for right then.
It wasn’t her fault, but the girl was adorable. She always made him want to ruffle her hair or pinch her rosy cheeks, which would have been entirely inappropriate, because she was an employee.
Cassandra Franklin – went by Cassie, born 21st of June 1991, valedictorian of her high school, graduated with honors from NYU. Youngest of two sisters, both parents were still alive, still together, and they all met up for brunch every Sunday.
Yes, he’d had her checked one year and seven months ago after she’d fallen on her ass right in front of him on her way to her interview.
He recalled the incident and smiled, shaking his head. She’d worn a polka dot blouse and patent leather shoes, with a headband. Seriously, a headband. All she needed to make the image of shy little schoolgirl perfect would have been a lollipop.
His gaze had dropped to her Barbie pink lips and suddenly he’d wanted her to suck on a lollipop.
Those were pretty lips. His interest piqued, he looked a little closer, catching the long legs under the bloodstained, ruined pantyhose, and the generous curve of her breast that the silken fabric of her top failed to entirely disguise…
He’d looked away. The girl was far too young to incite that sort of reaction from him. Eighteen, nineteen maybe, he couldn’t really tell, but she seemed far more innocent than the sophisticated women he frequented.
He heard her muttering about two left feet and found himself giving her a hand.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he said, to his surprise.
He wasn’t the kind of guy who called women sweetheart, or babe, or anything of that kind. But she was a sweetheart, that much was obvious. Mistaking her for one of his employees’ teenage daughters, he’d asked, “You’re meeting someone?”
“Yes,” she’d replied, before her head snapped up and took him in.
First, her jaw hit her chest, then her cheeks turned tomato red, and her big does eyes went down to her little feet.
“Yes, I… I’m here to see Ms. Cooper? I have an interview.”
He wiggled an eyebrow; so she wasn’t quite as young as he’d thought then. Good. That meant he could look down again, and properly appreciate the lips.
He liked that the upper lip was plumper than the lower one, giving her pout an irresistible and unique flair, but the pink gloss had to go. He wished he could wipe it off her face, and replace it with a cherry red lipstick.
“You want to intern here,” he guessed, and for some reason, that made her laugh.
“I’m twenty-three, and have two degrees, so no. I’d greatly prefer to be gainfully employed.”
He couldn’t hide his surprise. Twenty-three; eight years younger than him. That didn’t seem bad at all…
“Don’t worry, though, I’m not offended,” she said, smiling, without lifting her eyes up to meet his. How infuriating. “I’m well aware that I look young.”
Carter smiled and showed her to the elevator, resolving to have her background check done right there and then. There was a good chance that she was an industrial spy. No one was so perfectly innocent and sweet. No one.
Except Cassie Franklin, apparently, he had to conclude a few hours later after running through the report he’d asked for. There was no dirt on her, none. And yes, she had been a Girl Scout, there was a picture of a mini version of her selling cookies in pigtails to prove it.
Carter didn’t often think of her, in all honesty; adorable and ditzy wasn’t exactly his type, and she wasn’t high up enough on the food chain to have any reason to make it to his floor, but each time he saw her, he couldn’t help smiling. God, she was cute, and helpless, too. More often than not, she bumped into any available surface and tripped over her own feet.
Glancing at her through the transparent walls of his temporary office, and catching her watching him and Trick, then panic and blush like the darling she was, he smiled again. It was like observing a kitten. He thought he’d miss his incomparable view of the city from his office, but now he was looking forward to a few days enjoying the change of scenery…
There was no questioning why she squirmed. Her panic was a little excessive, but most women he met generally acted the same way – intimidated; some, by the depth of his pockets, others by his appearance. According to the trashy magazines that featured him every other day, he was hot. According to Forbes, he was rich.
Carter wondered what little Cassie was frightened of, his money or his looks?
His smile widened as she got to her feet, grabbed a pile of papers from the printer, stuffed it into a folder, and went out as quickly as her feet could carry her. Stopping himself from chuckling when she stumbled at the door was almost impossible.
She was running away from him, there was no mistaking it.
He liked that; perhaps too much. Little mice should know that when they ran away, cats couldn’t help themselves from wanting to chase.
He wouldn’t, though. The girl was an employee. His company didn’t have any fraternization policy, and relationships between coworkers weren’t frowned upon, as long as everyone kept their personal shit at home. The issue was that he didn’t want a relationship – not now, possibly not ever. He just didn’t have the time for it. Besides, Carter was the CEO – that was a completely different ballgame. He could look at a pair of legs the wrong way and be slapped with a million dollars’ worth of legal fees for sexual harassment.
Yes, that was an excuse. Yes, he was sticking to it.
“Carter, have you even looked at the figure I’ve just sent you?” Trick asked him.
He had. In fact, he’d read the figure in front of him three times.
“Yes. Yes, I have.”
“And you’re not ordering fireworks because…”
Carter forced himself to concentrate on the numbers from their latest launch.
Saying that it looked good was an understatement. They’d killed it, demolishing the target he’d set on the first day.
“It really is amazing. Well done. The bonuses are going to be pretty good this year.”
His friend was still looking at him in a strange manner, so he asked, “What?”
“You look happy. I mean, Christmas morning, I’ve gobbled the canary kinda happy. I don’t know if I should get the champagne or call your doctor.”
“Come on, Trick. I smile all the time.”
“Sure,” the CFO admitted with a shrug. “You show your teeth and pull your lips up, but man, you’re beaming right now. Did you get lucky last night? Because if that’s it, I’m hiring someone to keep you in that kinda mood every day.”
Carter just rolled his eyes. He most definitely did not need to call upon a professional to fill his bed. Whenever he attended an event, he took his date home, and for any other day, he had an agreement in place with the kind of girl any man would dream about.
Tara was tall, with a perfect ass, and designer tits. Her face had gone under the scalpel enough times to remove every imperfection. She was most men’s ultimate sexual fantasy.
“Come on, ’fess up, man. Twenty minutes ago, you almost beheaded the contractor for failing to finish the carpet over the weeken
d, now you’re giving The Joker a run for his money. What’s making you all cheery?”
Carter didn’t say anything; he wasn’t that stupid. If Trick ever suspected his misplaced fondness for a certain lowly employee, he would never leave it alone. There was also a strong probability that he might share the information with his mother, and then life wouldn’t be worth living.
Lara Harris wanted grandchildren. Badly.
“I just remembered something highly amusing. Now, if you please, I don’t think I can survive another minute without coffee. Is there a break room around here?”
He hadn’t done it on purpose, but when he opened the door to find Cassie sitting down with her sandwich, a pair of rectangular glasses on top of her perky nose, he had to chuckle to himself.
Trick looked at him suspiciously, following the direction of his gaze. To get him off his case, Carter launched into a series of questions about their latest deal.
They’d talked about getting into robots ages ago, but nothing they came up with was nearly as inventive as Slade Technologies’ stuff. William Slade had zero intention to start designing toys, so Carter had seen an opportunity for a joint venture. They’d shaken on the particulars a few days back; it was still new, fresh, and exciting.
Carter hadn’t attended the last set of meetings, entrusting it to Trick. There was only so much time he could spend going around in circles about tiny little details – after a while, he liked to hide in the creative department and brainstorm with the lucky buggers who got to stay in the fun part of the building every day.
“He just had one amendment: he wants a prototype for his daughter.”
That surprised him. He’d known William Slade for a while, they frequented the same circle, the same club, and he’d never heard of any children.
Then again, he wouldn’t be the first billionaire to keep his family protected, out of the limelight. Carter knew he would more than likely do the same in Slade’s place.
“Slade has a daughter?”
He smiled, imagining the cold, smart, focused man he knew playing hide and seek.
“Yes, apparently. That was a new one on me, too. Should have seen the guy’s face when he talked about her, though. He smiled nearly as much as you have this morning. Anyway, didn’t you get the file? Slade signed the contract, I got it sent to you via courier Saturday morning.”
Carter frowned; he’d been out sailing over the weekend.
Knowing how efficient his housekeeper was, he opened up his computer bag, and found a thick brown folder he hadn’t put in there.
“You can always count on Mrs. Ferrar to save the day,” he said, opening it up and glancing through it until he got to the signatures on the last page.
He’d check through it later, but there was ink on the dotted lines, which was always a good sign.
“How the fuck is that supposed to work? It’s not a coffee machine, that’s a damn spaceship,” Trick grumbled, interrupting his brief inspection.
Carter rolled his eyes and confidently turned his attention to the coffee maker.
He stared dumbly. Damn, the thing even looked like a spaceship. There were too many buttons and just about zero directions written anywhere.
“There must be instructions somewhere,” Trick reasoned, opening cupboards and drawers as Carter gritted his teeth, unreasonably aggravated by the uncooperative piece of equipment.
He was an engineer, designing complex, unique toys for a living. He could open up most computers, take out every part and rebuild it within hours. He was not going to lose against a coffee maker.
“What’s this handle for?” he asked, pushing a metallic tube down.
Scorching hot vapor came out of the damn thing, burning his hand.
“Jesus, this thing is a damn liability!” he cursed, putting the contract he was holding on a nearby table to protect it from the machine, before turning at the sound of a discreet chuckle just behind him.
Cassie was standing close – close enough for him to get a whiff of her delicate, floral scent. Proficiently, and without saying a word, she grabbed two cups, put them side by side and pushed a few buttons, doing some kind of magic until the machine yielded to her power.
“Cappuccino, latte?” she asked, turning to her left – towards Trick, rather than him.
She just glanced quickly, blushed, and returned to her task.
Carter didn’t like that. He didn’t like that at all. Her timid response to Trick meant that she was just excessively shy, not particularly nervous around him as he’d believed before. Damn, that was sobering. Perhaps he wasn’t so special after all.
“You can do the posh stuff? Then yes, please. Either would be lovely.”
She took some milk from the fridge and used the dangerous metal thingy that had left a red mark on his palm to fluff it up.
Then Cassie looked at him. For one instant, those emerald eyes that were too big for her face met his as she opened her mouth to speak; then she turned tomato red, shut her trap and bit her lip, unable to utter a simple word.
That was more like it.
“I’ll just have mine black. Thank you, Cassie.”
That made her look up again, gorgeous eyes full of questions. She wondered why he knew her name, of course. Good question, sweetheart. He met people every day and he only bothered to recall the names of those who mattered; influential businessmen, reputable celebrities, fellow professionals… and Cassie Franklin.
Damn if this wasn’t a slippery slope – he was man enough to admit it. He couldn’t spend any amount of time with the girl without wondering what her lips would look like wrapped around his cock. He couldn’t explain it, not even to himself. She wasn’t his type, dammit. He liked older women, sophisticated socialites who looked perfect on his arm when he took them to functions. Actresses, models, or professionals at the top of the food chain.
The hardness pushing against his zipper was in disagreement with the head he should be listening to.
Retreat. Now was the time to retreat.
“Enjoy your lunch,” he heard himself say as he absentmindedly gathered his things and put them back in his bag.
Carter turned around and headed out, knowing without a shadow of a doubt that Trick was going to be on his ass about the incident.
“You and little Cassandra Franklin? Really?” his friend asked as soon as they were out of the door.
“Leave it.”
His tone held a real warning, but Trick was probably the one person in the world who wasn’t intimidated by him. The idiot just laughed out loud.
“You’re serious about this. You like her.”
“I don’t know her,” he said, only half lying. He had plenty of information on her, but that didn’t tell him what kind of woman she was, really.
“But you’d like to,” his friend probed.
“She’s a sweet girl. I don’t have time for sweet, innocent girls.”
Trick smiled like he disagreed, but thankfully for everyone involved, he let it go.
For now.
